


Prompt #1 - Voracious

by Big_Spicy_Garlean_Fucker



Series: FFXIVWrite2019 [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Altered Mental States, Awkward Blow Jobs, Corruption, Desperation, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Gender-neutral Reader, Other, Pity Sex, Reader Insert, Sexual Coercion, Tumblr: FFXIVwrite2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 03:02:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20499797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Big_Spicy_Garlean_Fucker/pseuds/Big_Spicy_Garlean_Fucker
Summary: You hunger.You hunger for him.You hunger for him and he comes to you, as he always does.





	Prompt #1 - Voracious

**Author's Note:**

> [note: this isn’t narrated or told from my point of view, it’s supposedly another character / presence in the WoL’s mind. Up to you to decide who! First try at a unique voice, though. eep]

_‘I shouldn’t have to wait.’_

No, you shouldn’t. You’re the Warrior of Light, **Darkness** here on the First, a world plagued by everlasting radiance beaming down from the skies. You have toiled day and night for _years_ without cease in the name of all that is Good, or at least according to the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. They should be kneeling before you for all you have done.

_‘Bloody Scions.’_

They can’t help you now, though not for lack of trying. They cannot try if they do not know, and you’ve kept things to yourself for the sake of their protection. Their peace of mind. They need it, more than you. Or so you tell yourself, anyway.

_‘How long does it take a fucking Ascian to teleport, gods…!’_

It hurts, moreso than usual. The name of the Lightwarden you slew last week doesn’t even come to mind for the torturous prickling at your insides, the burning beneath your skin. It’s distracting. It’s misery. It’s pain.

_‘C’mon. Warrior of Light. You can handle this.’_

Alone? Hardly. Why else do you sit here, waiting, when you could be convincing your allies to summon Voidsent for you to feast on and balance out your aethers? They won’t, of course – you know this, and so you wait. You wait… for _him_.

He comes not a moment too soon, as you curl into a tighter ball in the darkest corner of your room at the Pendants, safe within the Crystarium with two guards outside your door. The moment he drops out of the air, cleated boots clicking against the polished floor, you’re awake. Ripping the soft grey blankets apart with feral haste to get at him, his mortal body, immortal soul, and his sweet, sweet aether.

“Someone’s hungry.” Emet-Selch smirks that bastard smirk of his and lifts a white-gloved hand, intercepting your searing forehead. Wine-dark lips purse together with a click of his tongue, and it almost sounds like a kiss, if only he would touch you. If only-

“Emet,” you gasp, scrambling to reach him despite his long arm keeping you well away. “Please.”

His brows lower, flat lines where once thrived quirky little squiggles. “You’re not well.”

Not well? Of course you aren’t – that’s the whole basis of your arrangement, but he doesn’t seem to know or care as he runs his thumb along your skin, into your hairline. His hand’s broad enough to cover your whole face and indeed, as you jerk forwards, he grasps a massive tuft of your hair and pulls you back. He doesn’t look particularly upset, just annoyed, as he often does when you aren’t listening to him. Or obeying him. Or playing nice- damn it, what does the Ascian want? You’re mortal, you can’t read minds, how are you supposed to know?

“E…” It’s a half-formed stutter cut by the need to get him _off_ – in all ways possible, but first of all, off your face. He’s pulling your skin back against your skull with how tightly he holds your hair, and it almost hurts more than your desperate, shameful hunger. It’d be embarrassing were you not in such need. And he knows this. He knows _all_.

“Let me look at you.” Emet-Selch grasps your face in both hands and thank the _Light_ your hair’s free – but you don’t even care to smooth it out, not when the kiss of cool silk brushes your cheeks and fusses under your jaw. “Open your mouth.”

You obey, sinking to your knees at once. Emet-Selch bends to try and scoop you back up, to inspect the ravages of Light inside your body, but you’re already well on your way to peeling apart his robes and smallclothes. He curls his lip, aethers rising like he means to kick you square in the chest for your indecency. But he knows, he _understands_ – and ultimately pities the unbridled thirst with which you seek his cock. It’s all he can give, after all, to offset the corruption eating at you day by day.

“Oh, dear.” He sighs, bringing a hand to his brow and forming a triangle about his third eye with three fingers. “Careful, or you’ll rip it off.”

You won’t, despite lacking the presence of mind to say such. Why this man wears so much accursed clothing is beyond you, but it’s nothing for your deft hands and sheer determination, need. You tug down his smallclothes and get right under his robes – he’s wearing frilled bloomers today, for some reason, but you don’t care – and swallow him whole. He fits right to the back of your throat and you begin to suck, heedless of the hand in your hair much gentler than before. Emet-Selch watches you, the circulation of struggling aethers through your body, and gives a shallow thrust.

“Ghnn.” You can feel him hardening and quicken the pace, doing as you’ve done for the past few weeks ever since this Light business started affecting you. Without Emet-Selch to offset the spread, you might’ve even turned by now. But you haven’t. He’s here. Saving you. _Feeding_ you.

“Slow _down_ – goodness, you’re going to choke.”

_‘Good_,’ you think, and Emet-Selch furrows his brows.

“Now, now… Here.” He takes a swift step back and you fall after him, scrambling to grab hold of his hips even as he side-steps and moves to the bed. He’s barely turned to sit on it when he catches you from the corner of his eye, raw, bestial hunger writ plain across your face. He blinks. “W-”

You dive face-first into his lap like you’re going for gold at the Moonfire Faire, grabbing hold of his length which twitches almost _nervously_.

“Let me,” you gasp, “Please. I – I need it.”

“I know, dear, but…”

“_Please_.”  
He withholds his nod for the moment to speak his mind, shifting his hips to rest his meat against your cheek. “Listen. You should have called for me – especially after that last Warden. Letting it get like this, it disrupts the equilibrium, it-”

“I don’t _care!” _Sobbing helplessly ill becomes the Warrior of Light, but here you are, shivering as your whole body cries out for the Ascian’s seed. His essence, his energy, _anything_ – he’s the only reputable source of darkness on the First and how _low_ you’ve fallen, to rely on him thus.

But you really, truly don’t care. Not now, not with relief so close. “Please, we can, can talk later, I… I just…”

“I won’t make you beg. Go on.” He gives in and lays back, head pillowed where you once rested, laying awake and awaiting him. And now he is here, legs spread, staring up at the ceiling seemingly resigned to his fate. He could very easily let you die, turn to a Sin Eater and flap around senselessly gorging yourself on the aether of a thousand innocents. But he can’t do that to you.

He can’t abandon his friend.

**Author's Note:**

> aaaaand yep you give Emet the succ, he nuts, it takes the edge off your Light-induced madness, and you're p much like 'shit bro sorry I almost sucked your dick clean off" and he's like 'no worries mate I know how it goes"
> 
> written in ~2 hours


End file.
